The rhythmic thwack of hammers and the low, gravelly hum of masculine voices had become the background music to her life. Two months into the renovation, her home was a battlefield of sawdust, discarded Coke cans, and the raw, earthy scent of blue-collar sweat.

She moved through the chaos, bending to sweep up a pile of drill shavings. As she arched her back, she felt eyes on her. Not the casual glance of the younger crew, but the heavy, predatory weight of Richard’s stare. There was something feral and merciless in his eyes. He was forty, tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a silent, wolfish authority that made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. Every time he spoke, his commandingly deep voice sent a treacherous thrum of heat straight to her sex.

She wished she knew what it was about the man that stirred such dangerous and lustful feelings deep inside her. What worried her the most, was that she had a sense he knew exactly when she was having such thoughts and feelings. There was always a flicker of triumph in his eyes every time he caught her looking at him.

The weeks rolled on, Richard continued with his lascivious behaviour, she hated the way he made her blush with the simplest of things, like asking to fill up his drink bottle from the kitchen tap, or the way he said good morning to her when they all rolled up to work, but especially the way he said good night at the end of the day, it carried with it dangerous connotations.

By dusk, the house was finally emptying. She hurried to the outdoor bin with a bursting bag of rubbish, desperate to avoid him. But as she bent over to shove the bag in, the plastic snapped. Trash spilled across her feet.

“For god’s sake,” she hissed.

Suddenly, a large, calloused hand clamped onto the small of her back. She spun around, gasping, and found herself inches from Richard’s bare, sculpted chest. He stood there, gleaming with sweat, his shirt tucked into the back pocket of his tight, dirty jeans.

“Let me help you with that,” he rumbled. His voice wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

‘Damn it! Why does he have to be so tall ... and shirtless’ she thought to herself, her face burning red, as a hot tingling sensation shoot to her crotch from his intimate touch. She opened her mouth to say something witty and confidently put him back in his place, but she was mute, paralysed by his proximity. As he knelt to gather the debris, his face brushed past her bare thighs. “You’ve got ink on your leg,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a feral intensity. “Better go wash it off.”

She fled inside, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Upstairs, she retreated to her newly finished bathroom. She shut the door and leaned against the back of it, breathing heavily like she had just run a race. She wanted to slap herself for how her body reacted to that man. stripping off her clothes and stepping into the glass-enclosed shower. The hot spray was a sanctuary she had been looking forward to for days.

Washing her hair, she thought she heard the sound of a door close. ‘Must be Richard’s car’ she thought, “Good, alone at last”, she whispered into the streaming water.

“I take it by your smile, that you’re pleased with my work?” she knew the deep husky tone of that voice.

She froze. Through the steam, a dark silhouette leaned against the wall. It was Richard. He was still in his work gear, his arms folded. In his hand, he held her white panties, turning them over in his large, dirty fingers.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” she choked out, grabbing a towel.

He didn’t move. He lifted the cotton to his face, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. Still warm,” he grinned.

Before she could scream, he moved with terrifying speed. He lunged forward, grabbing her arm and shoving the bunched-up panties into her open mouth. Just as she struggled to break free, a younger labourer, one of Richard’s devoted ‘minions’, stepped into the room. Together, they pinned her. Richard secured the gag with a strip of duct tape, she brought her arm up to strike the younger man gawking at her.

Richard caught it mid-swing. He grabbed her other wrist, twisting it painfully up behind her back till she had to go on tiptoes. He removed his belt with one hand while holding her wrists in his other, he pressed her to the wall, the cold tiles against her wet breasts making her nipples peak, he wrapped his leather belt around her wrist and pulled tightly.

She yelled and screamed abuse at them both, but with her panties in her mouth, it was nothing more than muffled babble.

She was stripped of the towel, standing naked, wet, and shivering before them. The power dynamic had shifted irrevocably. She was no longer the client, she was their prize.